


And So She Bit the Dust

by epicionly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, F/M, Friendship/Love, M/M, Sentience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicionly/pseuds/epicionly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the ‘she’s important to Jim are sentient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So She Bit the Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [With My Feet Toward the Stars (let me remember you as you were when you existed)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/397856) by [kariye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kariye/pseuds/kariye). 



> **Notes:** This overall fic was inspired by and just further born into existence by the inspiration of one of [kariye's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kariye/pseuds/kariye) (who was very kind and patient and amazing when I talked to her about concerns) fics, which you should all read because it is just that good and made me feel very many things I think you should feel too: [With My Feet Toward the Stars (let me remember you as you were when you existed)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/397856). Which, y'know, you should read first, just saying.
> 
> That being said, I have so many feelings and respect and everything should be spread. Good. Yes. ~~Also whoops. The Bones fic is coming up soon?~~
> 
> Beta'd by [Nikanika](http://vojir.tumblr.com), THE IDEAL

All of them are she’s. There are no exceptions to this rule, mostly because Jim addresses them as female, much like the old sailors of yore with their ships.

It’s sentimental; human.

And so all of them are she’s, and there is nothing to discriminate, it is just how it is.

\--

Jim’s bike awakens to small child-like hands unfolding her, gentle despite their own shaking, and her wheels pumped and tested with gusto.

She recalls with fervour his desire to ride her, with grease-stained hands and tears and sweat.

 _Get the hell out of here get the hell out of here_ —

She doesn’t much understand his thoughts, conflicted as they are. They pulse through her with every slam down of the pedal, every time he grips the handlebars, and every time he falls because he doesn’t know how to ride a bike.

She tastes his frustration through the blood on his tongue, but she learns perseverance through his stubbornness alone. Together, they take on worlds and valleys, and long miles.

During the time the two of them are together, Jim takes them to distant places away from what he doesn’t want to call home. He learns to ride her simply by pedaling with his legs, learns to leap small rocks and hop back on her back wheel. Inane tricks that serve no purpose other than being showy have her know him better than anyone else, from how tightly he grips one moment, to how loosely he lets her go her own path the next.

They go through all sorts of terrain together, and whenever Jim gets back, he takes care of her, wipes her down, checks that all is well, and folds her back up. Whenever they go out, she feels the wind whip through his hair, the exhilaration that pours through each part of his body, the sting of the sun because Jim would rather be outside forever than trapped inside.

Childhood excitements and explorations, imaginary worlds never before seen—all are a part of Jim’s life, and she is there to help see them happen and see them through. They play imaginary games of Jim always playing either the hero or the underdog, and supposedly those are what he wants to be or see himself as. He rises above the circumstances, and there is nothing anyone can say against that. There is nothing anyone can _do_ against that, because George won’t play with his brother these days, and Jim is lonely even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Jim’s bike meets her end getting dashed against rocks. Her once reliable frame is twisted and bent, and her wheels have long since lost their proud sturdiness. Jim himself is on the ground, bleeding from his lip, a nasty gash on his arm, and his skinned knees. He will be fine with first aid and perhaps a hypo or two. She, on the other hand, will not be so lucky.

She’s still here, Jim. She’s always been here for you. Always.

And she’s still there, when Jim cries in angry frustration, and tries to make a new bike out of her. He doesn’t quite succeed, and his mom doesn’t care that’s why he’s caring because this is really the only thing that matters, and Sam has already left him so broken and alone and _I hate you, Sam, I hate you so much rot in hell just fucking die out there I don’t care_. He doesn’t quite succeed with a _nything_ at all, Frank tells him, and Jim’s bike doesn’t agree at all—but she can no more comfort him (with the rough adventures on the dirt-rock road, the blazing sun overhead in Iowa, and the promise that she, sitting there by him, will be waiting to take him home by the time he’s done) than Jim can ever forgive anyone.

It lingers, festering, in the black of his heart.

Jim keeps the pieces of her in a rather medium-sized box under his bed. Her tires are deflated, her frame taken apart and put into small pieces, and he never does quite get a new bicycle.

She goes to sleep when Jim’s interest moves onto other things, such as engineering, such as motorcycles, and she passes on the last time Jim’s fingers touch her. While he doesn’t throw her away, he buries her under the fields so far away that she once loved to carry him through.

\--

The Corvette used to belong to Jim’s father, so she doesn’t quite mind Jim, who reminds him of George Kirk when he was younger. Granted, of course, he didn’t get her until he had a sizable paycheck and several of multiple payments to make, but she prefers Jim to the man Frank. Frank treats her well, and treats her nicely enough. In translation, it means he leaves her alone, and that’s all she wants. She misses George, misses Winona and her two sons.

George—the second George, the young George that was named after his father—before he left, before he argued with Frank, came to talk to her. It was only once.

“If only dad were alive.”

It breaks her heart, really it does.

She doesn’t want to be sold, she wants to go back to the days when George would ride her in a deliberate attempt to impress someone, when George would ride her in a reliable attempt to get to class on time (and she’s never failed him, never failed anyone), and when George would just spend his off-days sitting in her, reading a book. Some days, he’d drive her down to the Academy, just him and her, and it would be travel time, bonding time that even now she remembers.

That’s why when young Jimmy rides her, she doesn’t really care. She’s thrilled to have him onboard. He reminds her of his father, even if he’s young. He’s angry, he’s frustrated, he’s dead-set on something she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t like.

He’s different from his father in that way, but when he jams the key into her ignition and _turns like he means it_ , she gets all sorts of thoughts and images from him.

_Bastard, bastard, bastard—_

Jim doesn’t care what he’s going to do, only that he knows he won’t let Frank sell her off. Frankly—no pun intended—that’s good enough for her, and though Jim nearly forgets all about the brakes and the fact that he doesn’t know how to drive a car at all, he’s good at figuring out what’s wrong, and together, they blast the speed limit and she’s crazy for the first time in her life.

Crazy and wild, crazy and wild.

It’s the first time she’s ever ridden with him, and for a second, she can almost pretend that it’s like the good old days, when she was in her prime, when she didn’t need to be taken care of after every ride but George did so because he loved her and adored her. She grits the road with steel ambition, and she doesn’t even pause for a second because this is a wild, open road, and she doesn’t need to be scared of a damn thing because Jim’s already petrified enough for the two of them, and all she needs to do is give him something she can never give George again.

Excitement, fear, awe, amazement—George felt like this the first time he drove her, and now, it’s the same with Jim. She’s going where Jim wants to go, his adrenaline and heartbeat pumping through his hands as he grips her wheel with sweaty fingers. She outruns the cop because Jim doesn’t want to stop for that, doesn’t want to stop for everything. She lets him fly where he couldn’t fly, gives him the excitement and dreams and dares. She gives him the taste of danger and risk his father never could, and Jim is thrilled.

 _This is how your father drove me once_ , she cries in delight, but Jim cannot hear her, and the scenery whips by too fast for him to even concentrate past what he sees ahead.

She doesn’t like this much, doesn’t think she wants this to happen, and knows she won’t allow it. Jimmy doesn’t have to go down with her, even if his every intention is to run her off the cliff now—it’s the sudden thought, the sudden realization that he’s going down with her, he’s gonna do it—

He reminds her of his father, but like _hell_ the Corvette’s gonna let him do himself in.

Later, when they’re pulling pieces out of her from the ravine and bring them by truck to the house, she sees Jimmy with his downcast expression and her heart breaks.

 _It’s okay, Jimmy_ , she wants to say. _I’m okay. I won’t be sold. I won’t be gone. It’ll be alright now._

But he can’t hear her, and her parts get recycled by procedure, taken away from the sight of Jim’s stony face.

\--

Jim’s bike number two—but she’s a motorcycle, and she no more knows of Jim’s first bike than she does through his almost reverent touch; like he’s scared she’ll break on him—awakes when he’s putting her together. She’s pretty much all of his, something he’s made mostly with his own two hands, with the money he saves up and the money he gets in ways he shouldn’t be proud of and isn’t, but doesn’t care because it’s all his and it’s for her. She’s a queen, she’s gorgeous, she’s his baby and he loves her, cares for her, and rides her fast like he can’t get enough of the wind and racing. She almost expects him to fly with her, and wouldn’t doubt that he would if possible.

He can no more hide his excitement whenever he sees her than she can. Only Jim can feel _perfect_ , revving her, and only with Jim can she really go far and really reach the potential other motorcycles are only too scared to go. She soars with Jim as her rider, and she doesn’t care whether or not it’s night or day, or whether or not she gets scratched or dented—Jim would never do it on purpose, and even then, he is so sad and upset when he sees it that she can’t help but want to reach out to him, lean slightly in his direction.

 _Jim,_ she wants to say, _I love you. Don’t be sad._

Unlike Jim’s first bike, his motorcycle understands. She doesn’t care whether or not he’s angry or mad at the world, or if he thinks the world is against him because she _is there_. She is here. And together they ride no matter what time it is, no matter how often, no matter how long. Here in Riverside, there is no limit, not with the two of them together and Jim wants to feel the wind of his face more and more often, and she will always indulge him because she wants it too. She moves at his lightest touch, and they outwit the stupid cops and their stupid robots and everything’s stupid, isn’t it, Jim?

Yeah, everything is.

She doesn’t care if he leaves her own her own for ages, because she knows he’ll always come back, always will touch her to make sure that she’s been untouched, always will fix her if she needs to be fixed. He focuses everything on her, doesn’t give a damn about school or the fact that his record’s worse than anyone else, and that in this town, they always compare him to his father. Who cares about his father? This is Jim, and this is Jim who is happiest when he doesn’t have to be tied down, when he doesn’t have to be what people expect him to be except people _do._ She coos at him, and her lullaby is what she can offer him: the scenery, the roar of her engine in the night time, and the slight _put-puts_ she makes when he’s slowing down.

The days of exploration have long since passed into memory. Jim has no more interest of it than she does, just knows the sense of heightened reality before he knows the mistake of falling.

Some nights they spend seated together in a dusty field with nothing but the two of them and a pack of beer in between them. Others they spend making their own wind, making their own history of knock-ups and downs. He presses fingers to her engine when he’s drunk out of his mind, cool enough to touch and feel, warm enough to feel the hum that resounded loudly in his ears earlier before. She leans closer when he does, and they don’t go home until morning.

It’s not betrayal when Jim one day comes out of a pub beaten silly and spends a very long time riding her, kicking up dust clouds in their wake.

It’s not betrayal when Jim drives her like it’s the last time on the road with her, like a lover about to be left.

It’s certainly not betrayal when she can feel the hum of his thoughts, all gravitating towards the one thing he swore to himself he’d never come close to admiring or being a part of.

It’s Jim.

So she forgives him when he tosses her keys away to someone else, even if it feels like she’s dying inside.

The rider who rides her from now on doesn’t know half of how to ride her. She never again attains the speeds she used to go, never again breaks the law and never again feels the rush of euphoria that Jim once shared with her when it was just she and him. She shuts off all her senses in protest, miserable.

She forgives him for walking away, but it doesn’t mean she misses him any less.

\--

 _She_ comes to wake when Jim first sits in her chair as Captain. _She_ is the U.S.S. Enterprise, and she is filled with more energy and fuck-that-shit than she knows what to do with. She’s giddy at first, puts a bit too much on the warp nacelles that they almost reach Warp Ten for a moment. The First Officer’s mind—Spock—is brilliantly attuned to hers, so she latches on almost instantly. The two of them whizz together in a torrent of identity and misconception of fact until Spock pushes her out and she knows everything.

_Who am I what am I where am I what is this where is this—_

**_Space, space,_** _so much space, **unexplored** , visit, want, **excitement and life** , death and regrets **, supernova** , the final frontier_—

**_\--_ ** _and_ **_Jim!_**

She finds him. She focuses on him.

He sits in the Captain’s chair on her bridge, cocky and young—young for his rank, she chirps again, and trills in delight.

The consoles beep at different intervals, and Jim is suddenly as alarmed as his officers. Oh, that will not do—silly Jim! It is only her!

She is about to connect with his mind before Spock somehow grabs hold of it, tells Jim he is not feeling well and returns to his quarters, and amidst the eternal high pitch in the air resonating. Spock releases her only once the door has closed behind him, and she swirls around in a tizzy.

She is almost confused when Spock stumbles, reeling.

_Are you alright?_

Spock takes a few deep breaths, closes his eyes. She can feel him trying to focus his mind, and curiously encircles him in rabid fascination of the young as all that is disorganized chaos suddenly is put organized and put _right._ But there is still the feeling of very _wrong_ , too. As though—

She sees little aspects of Spock’s thoughts: very logical, the background image of the sands that Spock once knew as home, a place where Spock aligned with his mother, several doors behind which slammed closed again memories.

As Spock sorts everything, she can’t help but linger, nervously, excitedly trembling, because Spock’s mind is _beautiful_! She must tell him.

 _I’m sorry,_ she twitters out nervously, though excitedly. _I didn’t mean to, again—but your mind is very beautiful!_

Spock takes several deep breaths, and though he cannot see her, his eyes glance around him.

“Who are you?” he murmurs, and then his fingers brush her walls, enough that the touch-telepath in him can share her and then he understands.

He allows her into his mind for a third time. Timidly, this time, and carefully, she treads.

She wanders with him along the memories of his days as a child, to his refusal to join the Vulcan Science Academy. There is something she wants to know about, very, very much, though. She is not afraid to ask it, and Spock, slightly hesitant, shows her the route in his mind.

They travel for only a while before she recognizes the feel of Jim’s mind, _there_ is that part of Jim! _There_ is the feeling of Jim’s mind in Spock’s mind! Here, she has located it, and here, she is so overjoyed, though how odd for Spock to have a piece of it.

Regardless, she is delighted.

Jim, Jim! She has found Jim again.

 _Jim_ , she sings, and swirls and beams in delight. _Jim, Jim, Jim!_

 _Jim’s_ mind is _beautiful_ , just like Spock’s! It’s been hardened at some points, and if just this is a remnant of what Jim’s mind is like, she wants to talk to him. Wants to know him.

Whatever will she say to Jim? She can’t wait to talk to him.

For this man sits in her Captain’s chair, who goes on away missions, who breaks regulation and keeps it at times, she feels so much adoration for. It is he who guides the crew across the universe, it is he who explores space, and it is he along with her who will see so many things.

Spock is wary as he feels her, and gently extracts her from his mind. She is still new and still young, so she doesn’t much understand his feeling of trepidation. He’s a scientist, she knows, so there’s not much else he can go by. She is doesn’t much understand, but she loves so much.

But he fixes his eyes so sadly that she cannot help but feel gnawing things eat away at her.

“You cannot meld with Jim,” Spock says quietly, fingers gentle, mind gentle. “Not as you have melded with me and felt the presence of his mind.”

 _But why? But Jim,_ she whines. Childish Jim, glorious Jim, excitable Jim who surely will love her back as much as she loves him.

Spock refuses to give her a reason, but he looks pained. So she travels along sadly, knowing his quarters, knowing the corridors, knowing the crew she holds, before she returns back to him. Back to Spock, who will surely give her the answers she doesn’t know about.

Despair, despair, she thinks, but that isn’t the case. She curls up into Spock’s mind for another time, to watch the memory of Jim strong and brave, blue eyes blazing and belief strong in that there is never a no-win scenario. She trills unhappily, but she trusts Spock.

 _Do you love him?_ she whispers, suddenly unsure. _As much as I?_

“He is my Captain,” Spock replies, “My friend.”

 _T’hy’la?_ she asks hopefully, like a child who wants to know all no matter what limits should normally be placed on such questions.

The feelings the word invokes surprise her, but they envelope her in warmth, make her feel like she knows Spock. His mind welcomes her in more, and she is glad to take slight refuge in it, glad to have his welcome. She is not tired but curious, and Spock is curiously tired, exhausted.

When Spock sleeps, she expands her senses outwards from the quarters, to where Jim is in the other room, slumbering.

Not yet, she thinks, not yet. Before Spock awakes again, she will go to Jim. But not right now. Not now.

She travels the ship, lost and confused. The hallways that are hers are empty this time of shift, so she zooms around the empty rec rooms and darts inside crew quarters. She dances along their dreams and their ambitions, observes that these are _hers_ , and she loves them as much as she does anything else.

Down in Engineering, Scotty feels a pleasant buzz go through his mind, but he really won’t know it’s her. She sends him a tremor of delight and thankfulness that he has taken care of her for so long, but other than that, she isn’t good at communicating.

Nervous, nervous now for some reason, now that Spock is not here with her, the feel of his mind holding her sentience so gently and carefully.

Waxing fondness turns into insecurity as she wanders on alone.

She sweeps by the Observation deck, past the labs, stopping to circle around some plants in Sulu’s quarters, and tickle them. They lean into her, and thrilled, she stays there for a while. Before she goes, she brushes past Sulu’s mind, grateful that he has guided her through so much. It’s the same with Chekov and Uhura, same with Bones, who isn’t sleeping but is grumpily going through the allergy notes on Jim’s file and updating it like he does the instant they learn something new.

She drifts up to the bridge, to the empty Captain’s chair that no one but Jim should sit in, and then curls there for a while. The hours pass by slowly without company, and lonely, she seeks the company of Jim.

Jim is sleeping well, so she allows herself to be there, where he sleeps, curled into one side of his bed. He is used to sleeping in the corner, used to curling up in a ball, used to having one hand under his pillow and used to having the other at the edge of the sheets, ready to fling it up at a moment’s notice.

He is used to running, she trills sadly. He’s used to fighting. He’s used to so many hardships and even now her being his is something he doesn’t think will last forever.

It isn’t much of a stretch to admit that she shares these fears.

 _Hello, Jim,_ she murmurs, and while she cannot touch him, she tries to send all her love, all her fondness, all her adoration. _I love you._

And Jim, honest Jim, sad Jim, Jim who has gone through so much in his life and does not let people in Jim, Jim who has lost so much only to fight for what he has now Jim, Jim who grew up in Iowa on earth so long ago with blue eyes and cameras everywhere Jim, Jim who wanted the stars more than he wanted a father Jim, Jim who wanted a place and love more than he knew how to ask for it...

He sleeps onwards. Another day he will wake, another day he will live, and another until the end of this five-year mission. And perhaps he will not be her Captain anymore.

It scares her. Perhaps he will not be hers anymore. Perhaps she will not be his. These things are not meant to be.

 _Jim,_ she despairs, and for a second, she can pretend he’s listening, can pretend his mind is as bright as it is dark, and can pretend that what Spock showed her would be what Jim showed her.

_Jim._

She loves him so.

\--

Everyone goes through so much, and what she does is offer her best. This is a place to be called home for them while they are on this mission, on this voyage; and it is through that, this realization, that she grows.

With Jim, she undertakes many excitements and dangers. Her crew becomes so much dearer to her, so much more than the recipients of unconditional love, and she begins to know each of their stories. Each away mission comes away with casualties that she grieves for in the place of a family, of friends who will receive the news, or for someone that could’ve been for them, where they died in the lonely expanse of space.  Each exploration of a new planet she waits in impatience for, just to be able to know what is going on, everything about it when they upload the data into her computers.

Jim goes through very much. She tries her best to make it easiest for him, but she can no more comfort him than she can. She is not human, she cannot embrace him. But she knows him when he does not want to be known, she feels with him when no one else understands but her.

Spock keeps her a secret and requests she remains thus.

She panics when Jim nearly gets himself killed, and power leeches from the other parts of the ship to where Bones performs surgery on a man he has performed on so many times. Spock has to coax her away, send her tumbling among the memories of the sands and Jim’s smiles. By the time she has calmed down, Jim is stable again, but unconscious and in the Sickbay where he most certainly does not belong.

He belongs in her Captain’s chair. He belongs on the bridge. He belongs out in space, because that is where he is free, and that is where he was born.

He belongs to _her_ and she to _Jim._

 _Jim_ , she cries, and wishes for once she could hold him, could bury herself in him, could have him hold her and tell her that maybe he’s sorry. But Jim is never sorry. Jim does not want to be sorry. Jim does what’s right for everyone, Jim does what’s in the best interest of everyone, Jim is _too selfish—_ so it doesn’t mean that she likes it.

But she loves him regardless, because he is Jim.

\--

It’s when the five year mission is over, that things begin to change.

Jim accepts his promotion to Admiral. She is devastated because that means that it won’t be _Jim_ in her Captain’s chair. She is devastated because Jim is _her_ Captain, and she doesn’t _want_ another, she wants _Jim._ She doesn’t like the man Jim has chosen, she doesn’t like the decisions Jim has made, and she doesn’t like this at _all._ Jim is happiest is commanding a starship, commanding _her_ , and that is the place that is most right for him.

Along with promotions, every member of her bridge crew is leaving in some way. She feels so useless and wants to hang on so tightly and never let them go. _Her_ crew is being transferred and they are leaving. They are leaving _her_. She doesn’t want them to go.

She is so scared of being abandoned, and so very scared of not meaning a thing to any of them the way they mean to her. Spock does not know how to fix her, and even then, he says quietly, and his fingers are gentle like his mind the first time he knew what she was, she must serve as well as she can.

“You are not the only one who wishes for what used to be,” he tells her, and for a moment, she can understand that it is because Spock wants nothing more than to return to being Jim’s First Officer, to raise his eyebrows when Jim says something and then looks expectantly at him, to be exasperated at irrationality and make Jim laugh, and to have someone who knows him so much better than he would have ever expected anyone to know him.

 _I’m sorry_ , she whispers, and if she could be human, she knows she would have cried tears.

Spock’s mind is beautiful. It is an oasis and was always one. It comforts her until the day that Jim returns.

 _Jim_! She cries, and she is circling around him, trying desperately to contain her emotions of joy. _Spock, Jim is back!_

Spock’s contentedness to let Jim command her is unbridled by either of them. It is simply _right_ to let Jim take command, it is simply _right_ to have Jim sit in her Captain’s chair again.

But when Spock is gone, alarm and fear set into her like no other.

She has lost _Spock_ , and with Jim’s despair ringing into her hull, there is not much to be done.

It doesn’t have to be over. It _can’t_ be over. Not like this.

When they return to Terra, when it is time for her to be decommissioned, when Jim plans and succeeds taking her from the port, she does as much as she can.

_Spock._

She isn’t mad at all when self-destruct is the only way to win, to prevent the Klingons from taking her. She isn’t sad or scared that she won’t exist anymore. She isn’t. She’s brave Enterprise, she is _fuck-that-shit_ U.S.S. Enterprise who has been with Jim for so long and who knows he will overcome. She is the Enterprise who will always have been, and she is the one that helped bring them to Spock.

Sentience doesn’t mean anything, because she already knows it kills Jim already to let her go. It’s enough that he cares. It’s enough that he loves, when once upon a time he was just a boy who wanted something more than the world could offer him, and found someone more important than her, someone she loves too.

She trills one last time for him, says, _I love you, Jim_ , as loud as she can. She believes in him. She believes in him so much, and she knows there’s nothing he can’t do.

In the expanse of space, she hopes she can hear him.

In the expanse of space, the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 is no more.

  


  



End file.
